


The Odds Are Just Numbers

by Astosis



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Along with some more actual action, Canon Compliant, For the most part, Gen, Gun Violence, Mojave Wasteland (Fallout), More characters will be introduced in the future, My First Work in This Fandom, Rating May Change, Realism and canon may be slightly altered when the plot demands it, Some Humor, Violence, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-20
Updated: 2020-11-13
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:35:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26009635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Astosis/pseuds/Astosis
Summary: Courier Six is simply a young woman working for the Mojave Express to earn some caps, delivering a simple package to a magnificent city. However, two rounds to the head destroy those plans, leading her into a journey of revenge and a war between the powers trying to control New Vegas. The Courier is in way over her head... and the wasteland is going to make her, or break her.
Kudos: 6





	1. Two To The Skull

**Author's Note:**

> [ This fan fiction is pretty much the first thing I've uploaded here - any criticism and all comments are welcome. Usual "I don't own Fallout", and whatnot.]
> 
> [ On another note: As a bit of explanation, this story was written with the intent of some limited amount of realism and ignoring some game mechanics- the main character isn't going to take weeks to lay in bed and recover from the traditional headshot wound, but do not expect: spinny-killbot style melee combat, a character with an unreasonably traumatic past, some out-of-nowhere femme fatale protagonist or deep philosophical debates. Just bear with me as I present the story of a Courier Six who would like nothing more than to just survive for another day. With that, please strap in, and keep all hands and feet inside the ride at all times. ]

She didn't understand. She simply didn't understand.

That was the main thought that filled the woman's head. It hurt, and she couldn't think straight, much less see, but... she would have been willing to trade whatever few comfortable sensations she was still feeling - her heartbeat, the fact that her limbs seemed to be attached, and the feeling of clothes on her body - for a simple explanation.

She'd done everything right, hadn't she? It was hard to concentrate, but… she'd come the route that she'd been advised to - through the Outpost, past Primm… the rest was a haze. She'd been walking along the route, alone in the blazing sun, and all she remembered after that was pain and darkness. She was a _courier_ , not some gang member, or anyone who would be a target for some sort of revenge.

Spikes of pain erupted inside the woman's skull, replacing the dull and groggy feeling of darkness with the harsh and unforgiving light of the Mojave wasteland. The rays pierced her eyes like needles as they began to adjust. A constant ringing echoed through her ears. She gave out a raggedy cough at this new revelation, trying to inhale air. She felt a metallic taste in her mouth. Blood. Just from her lips, hopefully. A small portion of her mind laughed at such an attempt to be hopeful. She wasn't some battle-hardened veteran or desert survivor, but… she knew the way things worked.

She mustered enough strength to shakily move her head, a sharp pain flooding through her neck as she looked up from the ground in front of her to her hands. Her bound hands, tied with a thick knot of rope, pressing tightly against her wrists, a red mark already formed from the pressure.

Looking up farther, she noticed a few shapes, mere outlines as she took in the bright light coming from behind them. As her eyes adjusted, the details became sharper. Three men. Two that resembled a sort of gang stood to either side of a well-dressed-man in a checkered suit. _One held a shovel_.

The realisation hit the woman rather quickly, considering the searing pain. _Oh, dear god_. She'd known, of course, since the moment she'd taken the first blow to the head, since the moment she'd woken up, but… she'd had a hope. Some small, tiny glimmer of light - that it was a mistake. That they just wanted information, that they wanted to rob her, that they were slavers… but she was going to die. She was going to die, and be buried in an unmarked grave.

A sensation of anger rose inside the woman. It… wasn't _fair_. It was a childish thought, she knew, but… it angered her all the same. Why _her_? What had she ever done to them? She racked her brain, tried to think of some desperate explanation but it merely brought on another wave of pain. Instead, she settled for struggling against the rope, trying to push it against it as it cut into her skin.

The man turned around - the one wearing the checkered suit - before the other ones followed his lead, turning to look at me. She looked up at him, her expression one of confusion and pleading. The man's lips moved, but the ringing in her ears simply grew louder. He reached into a coat pocket, pulling out a small object. It was hard to make out, but the woman recognised the shape. The delivery. The stupid chip - was that what they wanted? Was that what her life was worth to them? Some _goddamn poker chip_? A new feeling of anger at the situation overcame her, as she resumed struggling against the bindings.

The man silenced her quickly enough the moment he pulled out the handgun. It was a gun that practically bounced the light off of it, but it didn't matter to her. All that mattered was what it meant - no bargaining, no offers, no chance. Her life - barely having the chance to truly begin - was about to be ended due to something outside of her control, by someone she never knew, in a series of events that she still couldn't understand.

As the man continued to speak, the ringing slowly subsided. She tried to speak, to say whatever words she could, to plead or to bargain, but nothing came out. The words were still a jumbled mess, just ringing in different tones, up until the man pointed the gun directly at her. Something - maybe adrenaline, or just pure concentration - cleared the ringing just enough for her to hear her executioner's last few words.

"-rigged from the start."

That was all the woman received as the man stopped speaking, raising the elegant gun the slightest bit. Aiming it at her skull, and pausing for only the briefest of moments. She managed a quiet attempt at a cry of fear, trying to move, before she saw the flash.

Two flashes, specifically… but too close together for her eyes to make the distinction, and flying far too quickly for her brain to understand in time. The first bang caused the ringing to return for less than a second, before the first bullet collided . There was no pain. There was nothing at all.

She fell on her left side, seeing the ground as her head collided with it, but not feeling it. Her mind refused. Everything seemed to grow dull, becoming dimmer and dimmer as the woman faded into confusion and darkness.


	2. Yet One Gets Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Against all odds, the Courier has survived in the face of certain death. Alive and safe, though already growing impatient. She wants answers, but... one step at a time.

_She was in hell._

That was the only explanation she could think of. She'd taken a bullet to the head, confused and dazed. Had she? There had been the well-dressed man, the shovel... the gun. She remembered falling, and then just... darkness. She was _dead_ , and there was no way that heaven could look like the Hub office of the Mojave Express. She knew the dimly-lit building, with its damaged wooden floor, and a large window that had been boarded up just a few days before she'd left.

She moved throughout the empty room, not feeling the California heat, not hearing the creaking of the floorboard's beneath her boots. There was nothing at all - a perfect void, disguised as a familiar building. The large, circular desk at the middle of the room was empty, devoid of packages or couriers. A small trickle of dirt gently fell, like raindrops, through a hole in the ceiling, hitting the desk and bouncing out of sight. _That wasn't right._

Nothing made sense. She gave the room another glance, thinking. She was here for a package. They'd told her to be here, to be on-time, showed her the form and the caps she could expect. She was lost, scared, confused. She looked at the old staircase near the far side of the room, the one that led up to... was it the storage room? _She saw only empty space, with a large window letting in dim rays of afternoon sun._ Had something been there?

A noise. She could hear something - slow, at first. Fading, before speeding up. Her own breath. Another sensation - followed by a shape moving just past her right eye. She looked down, seeing the brown floor, tainted with a flowing crimson-red colour. _She had been shot. She had died. Why could she feel?_

She stumbled back, trying to clutch onto the desk for support. _It wasn't there._ She fell onto the ground, her limbs refusing to obey. Her eyes were locked on the sight of the ground, the crimson puddle growing larger and larger, deeper and deeper. She felt herself sinking, desperately trying to breath as she went under. She couldn't hear her own breathing anymore, or her futile attempts to move, scraping against the wood and flailing in the blood - all was being drowned out by a horrific, rhythmic whirring noise. She sank endlessly, suffocating, before her mind brought her the mercy of simple darkness.

. . .

_Light_. Coming through a window, blinding her. _Pain_. A dull, almost rhythmic sensation in her head. As soon as she acknowledged these feelings, a hundred more came flooding in: her throat was parched, she felt warm... and she was laying on something soft. A bed? Her eyes began to adjust to the light as the seconds passed, feeling like hours. She could make out a small shape, moving in circles. A wooden ceiling fan, spinning slowly, cracked in a few places. A lamp, directly to the right of it, illuminating part of the room. She wasn't dead, but... she had no idea where she was, either.

She tried to move her fingers, flexing and extending them. They responded, if a bit shakily. She rubbed them against the palm of her hand, before gently digging a nail into it. The briefest sensation of discomfort - another one to add to the current list - meant that this wasn't a dream. She relaxed her hand, thinking. Her head hurt, but... it was less painful than... _oh_. Less painful than when she'd been _shot_. She tried to sit, using her elbows to push herself up slowly. A pain shot through her shoulder, and her vision blurred. She collapsed back, awkwardly laying her head between the comfortable pillow it had previously been on, and a poorly-maintained wooden wall.

The new angle gave her the tiniest bit of new insight into the way the room looked. Most of the light came from a large, chandelier-like lamp in the middle - one that contained a few busted lights, and seemed to sway ever so slightly. It stung to look at, but she wasn't going to get answers from just laying in bed. At the very least, she could see who'd saved her from _whatever had actually happened_. The only option was another attempt. With the courage of an NCR soldier - and with about the same amount of tactical planning - she tried sitting once more, using her hands instead of her elbows, this time. Her success was... partial. She managed to sit up, before her vision began to sway. Managing to catch herself, she propped her back against the wall, finally managing to get a good look at the room.

It was nothing special: the floor was a design of neatly arranged and utterly plain wooden planks, while the ceiling was crumbling ever-so-slightly. Posters completely covered the back wall - all advertising some different show or singer from centuries ago. Medical equipment that she couldn't exactly make sense of sat next to her, while a shelf held more medicine and stimpaks than she'd ever seen outside of the Hub hospitals. A strange machine with a joystick and text that she couldn't make out was laying on its side, a few lights flickering inside.

Just as she'd finished looking around the room, a new element presented itself. A man, somewhat tall, walked into the room, the sound of a door swinging shut soon following. He was dressed almost entirely in black, despite the heat. His head was completely bald and, as he turned to face her, she noticed both a grey moustache, and an expression of surprise. The man made his way over, his pace calm and steady as he approached the chair next to my bed, turning it around and sitting down. He opened his mouth, speaking.

"Woah, there. Easy, easy... just relax, wouldn't want ya to wither away from moving too quick 'fter all you been through."

The man's voice was gentle, soft. Barely above a whisper, really. She'd been to a few places, seen a few small towns, but the man's voice, combined with his appearance, placed him into a list as one of the few people she could immediately describe as "at least somewhat kind". She gave a slow nod in response, trying to recall what one would even say in this situation. Probably a "thank you for saving my life for, apparently, no reason".

The man gave a brief chuckle, offering the woman a small blue-and-yellow object. She took, shakily, in one hand, turning it over. A flask - a dark-blue flask, with a yellow "21" emblazoned on it. She looked back up at the man, who gave an encouraging nod. Unscrewing the lid, she pressed it to her lips, and began to drink. _She had missed water_. It was the first true comfort she'd felt since the start of this mess. The pillow could _maybe_ partially count, as well. She took deep gulps, before managing to control herself. She put it down, placing the cap, and offering it back to the man. He chuckled once more, shaking his head.

"Keep it, by all means. Reckon you need it more than I do, that's for sure. Speaking o' which... you're already one lucky gal, to be walking around after two rounds to the head. Just take it slow, miss. Why don't you tell me your name, if you could?"

Two rounds to the head. The mention of it woke something inside the woman - the small, primal part of her mind that had been leading her in the encounter with the well-dressed man, when she'd been… when she'd been shot. _Oh_. She'd known, somewhere, of course. She remembered it: you didn't exactly forget such a thing. But… her own mind had been keeping the information away from her. Small dots and words, never the full picture,. She could tell why, now. The rising fear, the confusion. She reached a hand up to her forehead. The old man's gentle grip closed around her wrist, moving her hand downwards. He shook his head.

"Almost no marks, don't you worry. But… I reckon it probably ain't the wisest choice - may not be the best for your psyche, and… well, I doubt that pushing your luck is somethin' you'd wanna try after what you've been through."

He was right. She'd never considered herself "lucky" - sure, she won a few gambles every now and then, but she was never notorious for having the universe just hand things to her. Still, she couldn't really deny it, now. Most people went down with a bullet to the chest in a gunfight. Maybe a machete to the neck, a club to the head. Some took one to the head, but she… she'd been kneeling, helpless. At the man's mercy, marked for death, and she'd _survived_. A choking sound escaped her throat, similar to laughter, but not quite there. _Almost no marks_. As if that was a priority right now. She looked up at the older man, starting to speak. Rather, _trying_ to start to speak. The sound that came out of her mouth was coughing. After it subsided, she cleared her throat, before starting anew.

"Maya... my name, that is. It's Maya. T...thank you."

She took another gulp from the blue canteen, feeling the water flow down her throat. It was... encouraging. She felt _somewhat_ better - she wasn't about to refuse any more care, but the headache had subsided a bit, and her vision was sharper now. She sat herself up straighter against the wooden wall, placing the canteen into a pocket of the coat that she found herself wearing - not the one she'd been wearing, but she didn't want to see that thing ever again. This one, however, didn't have the scent of death. Just... sand and leather. It was comfortable enough. She tried moving her legs, turning flexing them. It invoked a smile from the man, who spoke again.

"Just take it easy, miss. Relax. Not many folks get up after what you've been through. You ain't competing with anyone."

That was one hell of a tempting offer. She could just relax, lay down, let her body heal. Take it easy. He was the expert, here, after all. The trustworthy authority. That wasn't the right path, though, was it? Trying to skirt around a problem, constantly thinking about it, but always putting it off. Small portions at a time. No. You could spend years working at small parts of a problem, always trying to find the safest path, or you could handle it in one try. One bloody, painful and dangerous try, but one try. She was going to do just that. She wanted answers. She wanted to find the man who had done this to her. She was going to do it her way. She moved her hands to the edge of the bed, fully swinging her legs over it, letting them touch the floor.

The man stood up from his seat, trying to move, to tell her to simply relax, to tell her that she wasn't ready. She moved first, standing on two legs as she climbed off the bed. It wasn't a pretty process: a sharp pain returned to the inside of her head, and she wobbled ever-so-slightly. Her vision was blurry, but only slightly so. Still, she was _up_. She took one step. Then another, carefully placing her foot after the other. Another. As the moved her right foot for the fourth step, the ground rippled and shifted. An invisible carpet was pulled out from under her. Her foot came down wrong, twisting slightly to the side. Her fragile sense of balance shattered. She fell, crumbling to her side, barely having time to think before her shoulder was quickly introduced to the floorboards. Consciousness only stayed with her for another few moments as she lay there, hearing the man hurry for some medicine. She had failed, but... it was only her first try. She'd survived the worst part. If two bullets to the skull couldn't keep her down, _what could_? It was only a matter of time...


	3. Play The Hand You've Been Dealt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Courier is alive, moving, planning. She's getting her bearings, remembering and learning survival in the Mojave. Far from her goal, but even impatience will sometimes allow preparation and planning.

"So, do you have any experience with rifles?"  
  
The question caught Maya slightly off guard. She'd never really considered it something strange - sure, she'd touched a rifle, knew how to actually _make it shoot_ , but... she'd never really seen a reason to carry one. She wasn't some hunter or bodyguard, and couriers either travelled with well-defended caravans, or alone. A rifle was too much weight. Shaking her head, she looked at the brunette, who pulled a varmint rifle from her back, passing it to her. She'd only caught her name - Sunny Smiles - all of five minutes ago, but she seemed pretty nice and welcoming. Maya took the rifle, raising it to her shoulder in the way that she'd seen others do, before glancing at Sunny, who nodded and spoke once again.  
  
" _Careful_ \- it's a varmint rifle, so there's not much kick, but you should still be careful. Close an eye, make sure you're aiming well. Try one of those bottles."

The brunette gestured to a fence that held a few bottles of Sunset Sarsaparilla. Maya had managed to get a bottle in the bar, and... well, it was one regional drink that she'd skip. _An acquired taste_ , probably. She tried to steady her breathing, focusing on the bottle and the rifle, ignoring all other sounds. She adjusted the rifle, moving it the slightest bit up, and fired.  
  
It missed. Not by a mile - the small flew only a small bit to the left - but it was still a miss. She exhaled, already feeling exasperated. Had she really been expecting to hit her first shot, after being out for several _days_? Hell, she was lucky that she could even shoot a gun without collapsing on the ground. She knew that it was a whole "practice, practice, practice" type of deal, but that did little to comfort her. She couldn't - and she didn't _want to_ \- stick around this town, in the middle of nowhere, shooting bottles and being a nuisance. She raised the rifle again, aiming and firing. Another miss - this one to the right. She pulled the bolt back again, practically jamming it forwards as she took a third shot.  
  
"Huh. Well, I guess that's a... partial success. Maybe a rifle isn't your style?"

Maya lowered the rifle upon hearing Sunny speak, looking at the bottles. She'd missed the one she was aiming for, but she'd missed it by enough to hit _the next one over_. Huh. Maya cracked a smile, shaking her head at the accomplishment. Well, if anyone ever tried to shoot at her, maybe she'd just aim slightly to the side. Nonetheless, she nodded, propping the varmint rifle up against a fence post, and taking out her pistol. The standard Mojave Express nine millimeter that she normally carried was gone, presumably stolen by the well-dressed man and his accomplices. Still, the good doctor had seen it fit to give her one hell of a replacement: an old N-99 ten millimeter pistol. From a Vault, according to him. It was a bit scratched, but she'd heard good things about that type of gun. Bury it, throw it in a river, shoot it, burn it, and someone with no training and a bit of metal can repair it in a minute. She raised the pistol, smiling.   
  
The first shot went too high, but the second one collided with her target. She pivoted, turning to face the remaining bottles on the right, and fired. Another bottle exploded in a shower of glass and satisfaction. Two more shots - two more messes of broken glass for some poor soul to clean up. The last bottle made the wise decision to retreat, swaying and falling off the fence into the sand. Maya adjusted a lock of red hair that had already managed to come down over her right eye, before holstering the pistol and turning.

"Hey - if I ever end up having to fight an army of stationary targets that don't shoot back... I'll be in the clear."  
  
Sunny responded with a short laugh, before grabbing the varmint rifle, and tossing it over to Maya. The redheaded woman managed to just _barely_ catch it, scrambling to avoid letting it fall. She cast an inquisitive look at Sunny. The rifle had been an utter failure, hadn't it?  
  
"Keep the rifle. The pistol's what you're good at, but you'll always want a backup, or an option for range. Not too heavy, either."

The brunette turned, finally giving attention to the rather-large dog that had been trying to get her attention. Cheyenne, or something along those lines. Still, her advice was true. The rifle was remarkably light, which probably had something to do with the fact that it was mostly wood, and wasn't useful for anything bigger than the average gecko, unless you were a good shot. She wasn't going to refuse the advice of someone who'd just given her free - albeit very short - shooting lessons, but she could always end up _accidentally_ using the rifle for kindling, or _dropping_ it while running away from something. Selling it would probably be a better idea, though. Speaking of which - the doc had given her a few stimpaks along with an actual _Pip-Boy_ from his _endless reserve_ , and she had a bit of ammunition left before she was in any serious trouble, but...  
  
"Hey, um, Sunny? I don't suppose there are any... jobs around here, or anything like that? I doubt anyone apart from doctor Mitchell really works _for free_."

She was still surprised that even _he_ hadn't at least asked her for any caps she had on her, or stolen an organ to pay back the cost of whatever he'd treated her with. Maybe it was just one of the perks that came with a town as small as Goodsprings: be kind to your neighbor, don't charge them for injuries, and they'll protect you, maybe get you some food. Not that it seemed to stop them from having a store that brutally overcharged for almost every single thing they sold. Sunny didn't turn around from the dog, rubbing it behind the ears as she spoke.  
  
"Jobs? Not that I know of. Slow time, I guess. Not that much happening before you showed up. But... there's always the schoolhouse. It's just south of here, you can't miss it. Few of us have been meaning to head over there - there's a few caps lying around, and a safe that we couldn't get open. Maybe you can give it a shot, though."

Sunny turned around, standing back up to full height - which was still somewhat shorter than Maya - and offered her a small bag. Lockpicks. The redhead gave a nod, smiling again. Lockpicking a safe in a schoolhouse... she didn't expect a bag of grenades, but there was always the chance that someone had left an emergency stash of supplies, or one or two technological wonders. At least it was something that she was decent at doing.

  
-~-

  
 _At least she'd managed to find a good use for the rifle._ Maya, her mind filled with such a thought, brought the stock of the rifle down onto yet _another_ giant mantis creature. Sunny, it seemed, had "forgotten" to mention the giant goddamn bug infestation inside the schoolhouse. She carefully sidestepped the crushed remains of one of the bugs, trying her very best to avoid touching the corpse. She _hated_ the things: she'd only seen them once or twice back in Cali, but even once was one too many times. She could handle looking at the giant bear abominations, the other assorted creatures that were about the size of a small house, but insects? Those tiny bastards needed to be cleansed in fire. It didn't help that the universe's cruel sense of humor seemed to involve making them increasingly _massive_. At least these things were small enough to go down when crushed.  
  
She snapped out of her thoughts as she walked into the final room, looking around. It was small, with a floor made of messy wooden planks, torn up here and there. The windows were, surprisingly enough, not boarded up. It seemed that nobody had bothered to try to live in here. Probably explained the bugs, but... _aha_. There it was. A small, metallic square near the back of the room, set into the ground. A desk sat next to it, with a small terminal sitting on it. Next to it lay a small bag, and... huh. A handgun. Well, she certainly wasn't it the first to be here, unless the Pre-War world had disciplined kids via a round to the knees. She imagined that was more of a recent trend, however. She picked up the gun, placing it gently into a pocket. She'd stick with the more reliable N99, but a backup never hurt - the varmint rifle was being relegated more to "improvised melee weapon". The small bag contained a few caps, what appeared to be an unused flare, and an unopened box of Fancy Lads Snack Cakes. 

She was willing to forgive Sunny for the whole "bug infestation" thing. A box of _Fancy Lads_ , sometimes known under their alternative name of "greatest food to ever have been created". The fact that actually re-creating them was next to impossible was one of the greatest cruelties, in her opinion. How anyone could've pushed a button and destroyed the entire production system for them, she couldn't perceive. Maybe it was just a matter of not travelling enough: that, somewhere, probably in the cold North, was a hidden empire with the last remaining factory for Fancy Lads. She could test that idea, a bit later. For now, the one box would have to suffice.

Finally snapping out of the snack-induced fantasy, she knelt before the safe in the floor. Now, what made this thing tick? She took out one of the lockpicks, getting to work. For a safe, the lock wasn't exactly well-secured. Turning the pick slightly to the left, before bringing it back around, she heard the satisfying _click_ that indicated that her prize was within reach. Reaching for the door of the safe, she pulled. It didn't budge. She tried the locking mechanism - it moved just enough to prove that it was open. Goddamnit. She tried again, pulling on it to no avail. Jammed. Of course it was - nothing could go too _right_. It was as if the universe was mocking her. She'd gotten the snack cakes, but now they felt like a consolation prize. 

She plopped herself down in the metal chair behind the desk, skulking and thinking. She pulled the rifle of her back. Maybe she could try to... no, shooting it wouldn't work, and it'd probably destroy whatever was inside. She stood up, walking over. There weren't any openings, and it wasn't like she had anything to cut with, much less anything that could cut reinforced steel. Exasperated, she jabbed the rifle at the safe, hitting the keypad with the stock: good stress relief, if nothing else.

The damn thing swung open. Maya stood there, confused for a moment. No, she'd unlocked it, she'd pulled on it... _was it some sort of "push" safe_? Had some moron, Pre-War, decided that the best way to make a safe was to require someone to _push_ it, thus increasing the chances of it breaking by a massive fucking amount? One more goddamn idiot to add to her list of "graves or corpses to desecrate". Still, her anger at the creator didn't stop her from kneeling next to the now-opened safe, glancing inside.

The contents were... peculiar. No money, no medical supplies... just a small, strange-looking device. It seemed to have a strap for mounting it to your arm, along with a few buttons, and what looked like a rather strange antenna. She pulled it out, bringing it up to the light coming from the window, and reading the small message inscribed into the base.

"RobCo Stealth Boy Three Thousand and One."

Huh. Not bad. Not bad at all. She'd heard of Stealth Boys, the supposed "invisibility device" aspect, but she'd never actually seen one. They were rare, but... according to what she'd heard, somewhat _temporary_. Something to do with their power drain. She'd save it for a rainy day, or for when she could find a merchant who was willing to pay a good price for it. For now, however, she simply placed it into a pocket. All things considered, a good run. A Stealth Boy, another gun, _a box of Fancy Lads_ , and a few less bugs in the Mojave. Checking to make sure that she hadn't missed anything as she walked through the door, she sighed contently. The day was turning to night - she'd get some rest, make sure everything was loaded, and set out tomorrow morning. Goodsprings was nice, but... she had places to be. People she needed to _talk_ to. Answers to get.


	4. But Don't Let It Rest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Courier Six manages to make her way to Primm, searching for answers from the Mojave Express. Instead, she finds a trial by fire... and a new ally.

"It's fine, it's fine. I can handle myself. Just try not to shoot at me, if you see me, alright?"  
  
Maya practically ran from the NCR soldier guarding the bridge as she finished speaking. Dear god, it had been almost five minutes of back-and-forth conversation, almost entirely composed of her asking to _cross_ _the damn bridge_ , and the soldier mentioning that he had orders against such. What, would he get court-martialled if she ended up tripping on a rock and dying? She doubted it. Still, he looked pretty young - probably a recruit stuck in the most boring position imaginable - which meant that he might still have some of that _basic human decency_ that seemed to be rare in most armed groups.

She avoided the rather-poorly-placed minefield on the bridge, hugging the railing closely. The mines weren't exactly hidden, but she imagined that they were more for the fear factor. The bridge would probably collapse if a single one detonated, regardless. Nonetheless, she managed to cross it, and... here she was. Primm. It wasn't quite as large as she'd expected it to be - a few average buildings, one or two that had collapsed, along with a confusing structure. It was a twisting road made out of wood, high above the buildings in some points, and rather low in others. It didn't exactly look like a walk-way, so it was probably some odd Pre-War relic. The only other building that caught her eye was a small one, albeit with a familiar sign - the red "MOJAVE" sign.

She smiled. Sure, it wasn't the same feeling as realising that she wasn't dead, or the joy of eating a quarter of a box of Fancy Lad Snack Cakes, but it was a comforting, nostalgic feeling. It was where she'd been directed by the delivery order. Apparently, a "Johnson Nash" was the regional director. Assuming that she could convince him that she hadn't run off with the package, she should be able to get at least _some_ assistance from him. Alternatively, he wouldn't believe her, and she'd be dealing with the Mojave Express Reclamation Teams, sometimes known by their alternate name "sadistic death squads that will hunt you down across half the planet". Not the kind of people she wanted to face.

As she approached the door, she noted that the building was rather... abandoned-looking. Sure, she didn't exactly expect any massive amount of activity, but... both of the windows were shattered, and half of the door was just _gone_ , with the rest looking charred and damaged. Someone obviously hadn't been happy with the quality of delivery. That, or this branch of the Express had to deal with considerably more robberies than the Hub. It didn't exactly look like they had security. She nudged the door with her shoulder, opening it. The inside was almost as disappointing as the outside. A few posters were spread out on the ground, shards of glass laying around them. A fan hung low to the floor, suspended by a thin wire. A few drop-off boxes were laying on their sides, near the end of the room. A radio lay, face down, on the ground in front of her.

However, the centerpiece in the room was certainly the object laying on the wooden counter-top: a large, sphere-like device. Several long antennas seemed to be attached to the rear, while a small sensor dish of some kind seemed to be attached. Maya was hardly an expert in different robot models, but... it seemed to be _some sort_ of robotic entity. The levitating kind, probably. She turned over the spherical robot, trying to get a good look at it. It didn't seem to be turned on. As she turned it over, however, she noticed the likely cause of this: two enormous bullet holes on the robot's right side. Wow. Whoever had decided to shoot the poor thing hadn't really wanted to give it any chance of survival.

Maya looked at the sphere, curiously. Now, on one side... her engineering knowledge was very much there, but _it was a goddamn robot_. For all she knew, any attempt to fix it would trigger a nuclear self-destruct. On the other side... _it was a goddamn robot_. Judging from the large device attached to its front, it was a robot capable of shooting people. That meant twice the firepower, along with a machine that could float. She sighed, giving the room another glance. It didn't seem like anyone was using it, and... well, if they had wanted to keep it, they should've kept it behind a locked door. She pulled up a rickety wooden chair from a corner of the room, sitting down in front of the robot. She bent down, grabbing the radio from the floor and placing it one the desk, before reaching for her bag. The robot would be handy, but the repair was going to take a _lot_ of time and mental fortitude.  
  
. . .

"So, ED-E? Did I get that right?"  
  
The only response the woman got for her troubles was a garbled noise. Well, not "noise", perhaps. The robot was communicating, speaking, she just... didn't fully understand it, quite yet. Even as she carried the "Operator's Guide To Eyebot-Class Robotic Communication" that she'd found in a drawer, she had trouble deciphering messages without having the robot repeat them at least ten times. Maybe it came with practice. It likely didn't help that her repair job had been... less than perfect. Two sensor modules were haphazardly attached to either side of the robot, and it had an entire new layer of metal in a few areas. Not that she could really dedicate time to that right now: she had alternative priorities. From her initial observation, there was _nobody_ in the town. Which, obviously, didn't make sense. The NCR had told her that the reason they hadn't just mowed down the town was because there were civilians. Her current theory was... well, evacuation. The bandits in the streets - even though she didn't see them - had forced everyone to evacuate into a safe area, and... well, only one place seemed large enough to support such a group.  
  
The building was rather massive, stretching the length of Primm. The sign above it identified it as, in rather large letters, the "Bison Steve Hotel". It made sense, certainly. It was big enough for a population, and it was a hotel. They were made to keep a bunch of people in one place, comfortably. Hopefully, she could get some answers. Maybe even find the "Nash" that her order mentioned. She'd likely have to apologise about the robot, though. She glanced back at ED-E, as he floated in place, gently moving up and down, before turning back around. Truthfully, she was a tad nervous. There was no way that the town was just _dead_ , of course. They couldn't have all been rounded up and shot before the NCR got word of it, and there were no corpses anywhere. Still... she couldn't shake a feeling of unease as she took one last step towards the building.  
  
As she pushed the double-doors of the hotel open, the first thing she noticed was the utter state of disrepair of the lobby. The ceiling looked like it was about one gentle push away from collapsing. The walls were cracked, with paint peeling off of them. All the lights were smashed, save for a single one, hanging by a few wires. The place was an utter mess. The next thing she noticed was the man sitting behind the main desk. He was tall, with messy jet-black hair. He was nursing a bottle of... something, and had a weapon propped up against his seat: it was impossible to identify it further with the poor lighting. She considered asking about her delivery order specifically, or where she could find... well, anyone. She never got the chance: the man practically jumped up from his seat, swinging the weapon - now visible as a shotgun - around, pointing it directly at her. His finger remained near the trigger, shaking slightly. Now that she noticed it, the man was shaking _everywhere_. His arms, his legs. It wasn't the nervous wobble of a man who didn't want to point a gun at someone, however, or a man afraid to pull the trigger. No, it was the artificial wobble, the kind created by only one drug. _Psycho_.  
  
"Hey, who the _fuck_ are you? Fuckin' talk! I'll... I'll blow out your fuckin' brains if yo-"  
  
The man froze, the expression of surprise on his face mirroring the woman's. He collapsed, crumpling backwards. The woman simply stood there, dazed. She'd felt herself do it. She'd felt herself pull the ten-millimeter N99 from the holster, quickly raise it, squeeze the trigger thrice. She saw the smoke coming from the barrel, the blood starting to flow from the man. But... she hadn't _done_ _it_. She hadn't been in control. She'd been panicking, confused, on the verge of tears. It was the other part of her: the small, animalistic part of her brain, the one that _acted._ The one that didn't care about the fact that a tiny slip of his finger would have killed her. The one that didn't try to negotiate. The one that wasn't concerned with the fact that she had just _killed someone_. She knew that it had been self-defence, but... that didn't make it different. She walked, now in control, trembling, over to the man. She saw the three bullet holes in his chest, the shotgun at his side. The empty injections of Psycho on the ground.  
  
She heard something, too. Footsteps. She couldn't make out an exact number with her ears ringing, but it was more than one set. She had to move, she had to run. They were going to come in, see her kneeling over their friend's body, and shoot her. She couldn't. Her legs were lead. Her brain was on fire, unable to process what was happening. Her arms didn't reach for the pistol, paralysed at her side. The footsteps got louder. _She refused to die here._ The last time, she'd been on her knees, but still fighting, never content. She wasn't going to die here, kneeling on the ground, crying at some murderer's corpse. She let the animal instinct take over.  
  
The footsteps grew louder. Two, three people? She grabbed the shotgun from the man's body, turning around to face the doorway that led farther into the hotel. A young red-haired man rounded the corner, a pistol in his hand. She pulled the trigger once, turning the man's torso into a mess of blood and gore. He barely had time to register what had happened before the next one became visible. The man's armour was covered in metallic scrap, and he waved a submachine gun around the room, looking for her. She raised the shotgun a few inches, pulling the trigger. His sunglasses were little protection as the round simply... erased his head, leaving a bloody mess on the back wall. Tossing the shotgun to the ground, she pulled out her pistol once more, pressing forwards. There would be time for looting later. She almost collided with the third man, as he swung a cleaver down at her. There was no time to move: it sunk into her shoulder. She moved almost as fast: the first pistol round went into his right leg. As he began to collapse, the next two went into his chest.  
  
As the man collapsed, dead, she stumbled against a wall, glancing at the wound. It was surface-level, but... the moment the adrenaline wore off, it was going to _hurt_. She pulled a stimpak out of a jacket pocket, moving it to her leg. It was only then that she noticed how much her own hands were shaking. _Not now, Maya._ More were going to come up. They wouldn't wait for her to recover. She pressed forward... and barely avoided a hail of bullets as she rounded a corner. Jumping behind a small chunk of the wall, she tried to make herself as small as possible as someone fired round after round. As she turned around, back against the table, she saw ED-E. She almost broke down laughing at the ridiculousness of it. Here she was, fighting for her life... and the fucking robot was just _hovering there_. A few stray bullets pinged off the robot, leaving only small dents and ricocheting. She looked up at it, and the voice that came out was full of rage and confusion.  
  
" _DO SOMETHING!_ Please, you goddamn _metal ball_ , shoot them! Do _anything_!"  
  
The robot simply hovered there. Letting out something that was a cross between a cry of desperation and exasperation, she gently raised one hand just barely above the wall, firing blindly. The shots didn't seem to hit anything, but... the man wasn't shooting back. It'd had the intended effect of getting him into cover. She stood up, quickly moving, trying to advance. She saw the man's shadow behind a small overturned table, and... simply fired. The wood did little against the six bullets that she pumped into the man. Even then, she approached cautiously. Hugging the wall, she came up next to the man's corpse. She nudged it, roughly, being ultimately content that it was dead. _Content?  
  
_ She entered another room, one labelled "RESTAURANT". She took a deep breath, pushing open the doors... and immediately had that air thrown out of her lungs as _something_ collided very rapidly with her shoulder. The woman fell, pushed to the ground, dazed, pointing the gun at _whoever._ The man's identity didn't remain a secret for much longer. He was relatively tall, with dark brown hair. He wore a suit of metallic armour, made of scrap plates of steel. His most noticeable feature, however, was the enormous flamethrower that he carried. The barrel of which was stained with a splash of blood from her wound. The man was approaching, and the woman was already feeling the heat from the small blue flames at the tip of the weapon.  
  
"Don't you fucken move, bitch! _You kill my boys_? You fucken shoot 'em to get to me? _You fucken do that?_ "  
  
The man swung the flamethrower around rather easily for something that looked quite so large. He pointed it at her, and the pistol that she pointed at him felt meaningless in comparison. Even if she could shoot past the armour... she couldn't do it before he unleashed a torrent of flame on her. She wouldn't survive that - two bullets to the skull were different from _that_. She moved to answer, to try to negotiate - even though she knew that there was nothing she could say - but the man cut her off.  
  
"I'm gonna _cook you alive!_ You kill my men, I'ma make you _wish_ they killed you! Gonna make you... the _fuck_?"  
  
Even as the man flicked a switch on the flamethrower, causing the blue fire to surge another few inches in front of the weapon, he turned his head to the doorway again. She followed, hearing much the same thing: a strange, catchy western tune. It was just a few seconds long, but... the more surprising thing was the source of it: ED-E, floating in the doorway, one of the metal plates that she'd welded onto him swinging loosely, and a small series of red lights turning on... _along the side of the weapon attachment he had_. His weaponry wasn't broken at all: she'd obscured some system with her repairs. The flamethrower-wielding man understood a second too late, turning too slowly with the bulky weapon as a flash of red light flew out of the weapon, colliding with the tank of the large and very-volatile flamethrower.

The woman practically flew backwards, colliding against the nearby wall as shards of metal embedded themselves into the ground and walls around her. The robot hovered exactly where it had been, looking as normal as ever. The man... well, the man didn't exactly _exist_ anymore. Maya managed to stagger up from her seated position, looking around the room. Nobody else. The room was massive, filled with mattresses, but... nobody was in here at the moment. Out, presumably, or all dead. She stumbled over to a smaller set of metallic doors, hoping to find some sort of medical supplies, and hoping that ED-E's _generally amazing gun of death_ didn't need to recharge for long.


	5. Shuffle, Stack, And Gamble

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Courier Six stumbles upon the small town of Nipton on their journey towards Novac. They discover the depths of cruelty that the wasteland has to offer, and learn of the Bull.

Maya knew that something was _wrong_. It wasn't exactly hard to understand: the fire gave it away quite obviously. Fires, rather. She could see multiple sources of smoke, rising into the air. Still... no, this couldn't be Novac. She pulled up the map display on her Pip-Boy, trying to adjust the zoom. Novac was still a good distance down the road, so where was she? More importantly, what the hell had happened here? She made her way up the small cliff that the burning town rested on, glancing over her shoulder periodically. She was never, ever, ever coming back to that path: _every goddamn giant ant_ \- if they could even be called ants and not _horrific demon spider abominations_ \- this side of California had decided to come after her. The stock of the varmint rifle was still covered in their... blood? Assorted juices? Weird insect fluid? Regardless, she'd need to get it washed. She wasn't exactly high on ammo for the shotgun, either. At least the two pistols were loaded, even if one was near-useless.

The woman stopped as she made her way over the hill, paralysed by the sight. She'd seen death back in Primm, but this was something else. _Agony_. People, hung up on massive wooden crosses. Crucified. The houses around them burned, crumbling. She had just walked into the aftermath of a massacre, and she knew she needed to move. Nonetheless, the feeling of rage that she'd felt before was present. It wasn't her tied up and helpless this time, but... some sick fuck had done this, probably laughed or talked to the people in the town as they killed them and strung them up like some sort of fucking decorations. Some...

 _One of them blinked_. Her eyes went wide. Her hands felt cold. Her mind began to block everything out, leaving her with nothing but the sound of her own rushing blood. Someone had done this to them alive. Someone had left them there to... what, _starve_? Be found by a hungry pack of whatever this fucking wasteland had to offer, and be _eaten alive_? She couldn't even make out what she was feeling. Every reasonable cell in her body told her to run, told her that she couldn't stand up to something that had killed a town. The crucified men were dead anyway. She had no reason to add herself to the list. It didn't change the fact that she wanted whoever had done this to face the same fate. _She'd break their fucking legs and haul them onto the cross herself._

The violent train of thought was derailed by a simple noise: a beeping. She practically coughed out a sigh of relief, turning to her left. ED-E. She didn't want to exactly attribute too much to the robot, but... hell, having a metal ball with a death laser and the ability to play cheery music was good. She couldn't quite understand what he said - anything past "yes" or "no" usually required her operator's guide - but it was nice regardless. She knew why she wanted to do the things she did, of course. Anyone that she could attribute the checker-coated man's crimes to worked well to temporarily quell her desire for revenge. For answers, more importantly. _Why? What the hell did a whole town do to warrant this? What had she done to warrant being shot?_

Thankfully, despite the sweat still present on her hands, she found it a bit easier to move, even as she slowed down ever so slightly, making the robot float a few centimeters in front of her. She looked right, at the destroyed houses, and the mound of burning tires, before turning left. The main road of the town was a few buildings long, and at least a dozen people hung on crosses. She moved forward, tensing her body to the utter extreme as she moved past the first pair. They didn't move, thankfully. This was the way she continued: ignoring their small attempts to move their heads, their pitiful cries. There was nothing she could do. The nearest doctor was too far. A stimpak worked wonders, but it didn't fix _this_. She was almost at the large building - presumably some sort of town hall - at the end, before she practically jumped. A voice.

"Oh, don't be concerned. Don't reach for your gun: I'm not planning to lash you onto a cross like this town. In fact, I'd like you to stop looking down, and take it all in. Look at the faces of the degenerates of this town, and remember the work of Caesar's Legion."

She spun around, immediately. He first instinct was, obviously, to reach for her gun, but... it was no use. As she looked on at the party of a _dozen_ , she knew that she had no chance in hell of surviving if she tried to fight them. ED-E had obviously gotten the same message. He let out a long series of beeps, but otherwise merely hovered. At least... at least she knew the bandit fucks behind this. Behind the attack, behind the crucification. Caesar's Legion... it didn't ring a bell, not that she was complaining. These people... she was at a loss for words. She looked back up at the leader - a young looking man, wearing some sort dog-like pelt for a hood. She only managed partial sentences.

"These... this town... _why_?"

The man looked at her curiously, raising a brow and giving an utterly smug smile. He looked utterly confident, and she despised him for it. The checker-coated man had at least given her the comfort of looking semi-uncomfortable executing her point blank. The bandits in Primm had just been angry and drugged up. This man looked like he'd planned everything out. He didn't need to tie her up or beat her because he could count on her own instincts to stop her from charging him. He was smug in knowledge, not in having the strongest punch or the biggest gun.

"Why? Because it was a town of _whores_. A town where none trusted each other. A town where families sold out their children for a few caps. A town that was willing to sell everything to us for a measly sum. A worthless town that won't be missed. A stain on the Mojave that we have _erased_... and a warning."

 _A worthless town._ The man had the audacity, the ability to burn a town alive, men and women, families, and then call them whores. Her own fists shook. She wanted him to feel this. To hang, to burn, to suffer. She wanted him to be as _powerless_ as the people he killed, as powerless as she was, and she never wanted to feel like this again. _She couldn't do it._ She'd die, shot before she even managed to lay a hand on him, before she'd even pulled out the pistol in her holster. Unless she didn't have to. It had been tempting to let her instincts take over, to shut down parts of her brain and simply fight, just like in Primm. But she'd managed an ambush there, and she'd killed six inexperienced bandits, not a dozen or so heavily-armed soldiers all looking at her. However... where strength didn't win you a fight, cunning could. She spoke, and began to _think._

"I... you're _sick_. You have me here, and I won't kill myself to prove it, but you're fucking insane. I'm... I'm going to bring this to everyone I can. The NCR is going to march on you, and we'll see how _smug_ you can be then. Actually... why not now?"

The first few sentences had been exactly what the man wanted to hear. Maybe the acting was a bit much - too submissive. She wasn't _stupid_ \- whoever they were, they were big enough to not need to worry about hiding from the NCR. They held power. Men like him, who held power? They liked to think they were above those like her, that they were so intelligent and grandiose that their solutions seemed like madness to everyone else. The man probably enjoyed it, loved hearing those words. The last four, however, were ones that he hadn't been expecting. She could see the briefest flash in his eyes, before they returned to normal. He opened his mouth to speak, and she acted.

They'd have shot her the moment she went for her holster. But... with her arm already in her coat, the movement was minimal. All the attention had been on her face, regardless. She'd slowly moved the gun to face him: easy enough, with how large the pockets were. Now, she pulled the trigger. The heat was the first thing she felt: a rapid increase of temperature on her chest, followed by the _bang_. The bullet flew, tearing the coat apart, and colliding with the man's torso. There had been no time to aim for the head, or align it with the heart. It wouldn't kill him, of course. People like him got better medical attention than that. But it would leave one hell of a mark. It'd wipe the smirk off his face. It would buy her time. As she'd thought, about half of his little squad dropped down to help him. The rest, however, raised their shotguns at her... and saw their target disappear.

She'd been relying on tech she couldn't test, which was always an atrocious idea, but she didn't have a choice. Fortunately for her, the Stealth-Boy seemed to have worked. She dove to the right immediately, hitting the floor. She might have been invisible, but that didn't stop them from unloading buckshot into the space where she'd been. She made her way, quickly, to the houses on the side, her breathing quick and shallow. She turned back, just in time, to see ED-E just barely avoid a pellet. Reaching into her holster and trading the nine-millimeter for the familiar N99, she looked up far too late. The first man who had fired was laying on the ground, while a second one was nursing a stump of a hand. Unfortunately, that seemed to be all ED-E had to offer, as the robot began fleeing farther away. 

She began her own relocation, running deep into the ruins of the town. She saw a bright flash of light, followed by another, and then a third. It took her a moment to realise what she was seeing: the end of the invisibility field. Looking down, she could finally make our her hand as being rather visible. At least she was out of their direct sight. Those were the good news. The bad news were... well, she had nowhere to hide, the moment they managed to get out of this godforsaken town. They'd either have to outrun bullets - probably fine for ED-E, less fine for her - or somehow get them to back off. Seeing as ED-E was out, and she was working with barely-enough ammunition to kill a pack of geckos, running seemed like a vastly more appealing option. She did just that: she ran past the houses, past the fire. She ducked to avoid a crashing piece of debris from the flame, and only accelerated as she heard a call from the Legion members behind her. _If they found her now, a crucification would probably be a mercy._

As she ducked past a crumbling sign reading "NIPTON" - which at least clarified the location of her hell - she realised just how _low_ her standards of comfort had dropped. She had never, ever thought that she'd take the corpse of a Powder Ganger being _eaten_ by what seemed to be a wild coyote - or at least a wild dog - as a sign of _safety_. She half-heartedly moved her hand to her holster, unsure, before the animal gave her one judgemental stare, turned around, and practically leaped off the road, running to safety. She gave the glasses-wearing man a brief glance, before moving on. Someone would give the poor guy a funeral, but she needed to get moving. Novac was just up ahead. A city that would hopefully be a tad safer than this godforsaken place. Third time was the charm, right?


	6. And Watch It Pay Off

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Small towns hide secrets well, as Courier Six learns. Another ally is made, almost as mysterious as the first.

"Dear god, I'm... sorry about your loss."

Even she could understand how amazingly and annoyingly useless those words were, staring into the sunglasses-covered face of the sniper. No matter how sincere - and they rarely were - the words were, they didn't exactly bring back towns, restore limbs, or... well, in this particular situation, bring wives back from slavers. Still, it was all she had to offer: she felt a tad too new to the area to offer the man some kind of drink, and... she wasn't exactly sure how one could proceed in this type of conversation. She'd gotten bad news from friends, sure, but this man was practically a stranger. A name, an occupation and a very fancy beret were the only pieces of information she had that described him in the slightest.

Of course, that wasn't the main cause of her guilt. No, that would be the small, lightly-scratched holotape located safely in one of the inside pockets of her coat. A holotape that told her exactly where to go, and one that she'd obtained in a less-than-kind manner. It was wrong, yes, but she'd been _shot_. A small bit of theft seemed light, in comparison to what she'd gone through. Sort of like karmic balance, right? Assuming that shooting those Legion bastards hadn't counted for that earlier, and... well, she could worry about it later. The sniper - Boone, as he'd introduced himself - fortunately brought her back to reality.

"It's in the pass, now. But... might have something for you, if you're interested. Job"

A job. She'd have preferred to have an offer of travelling along, maybe - even with the brief period of time she'd spent in this town, people had been practically celebrating the skill of their two snipers - but there was something about the glint in his eye. Was that a plan coming together, or something closer to hope? She shrugged, before firmly nodding. She could stay here for a small while longer.

"Good. The one who sold my wife to the legion... they live here. Had to. Ca-My wife was the only victim, and those bastards knew exactly what route I wouldn't be watching. Knew when I'd be rotating shifts. Took them _minutes_."

The man's expression seemed to become a sort of reminiscent silent fury. That was it, then. Did he feel guilty, that he should have... somehow saved her? Was that what he was hoping to do? She was about to speak up and ask about _what_ the job actually was, before deciding against it at the last second. It was that same feeling of almost-bloodlust-like desire to just restlessly walk to Boulder City and kill that checker-suited fuck with nothing but a piece of rebar and... right. Present moment. Concentration.

"They haven't left town, either. It's one of the people in this town. Any one of them. None of them will look me in the eye and give me an answer, but you're _new_. Keep this conversation between us, and they'll trust you well enough. Here. The signal. Wear it, bring them out in front of the dinosaur... I'll get it done."

He moved to take off his beret, offering it to me. The dark-red fabric was well-worn, looking like it had been through hell and back, but the golden letters spelling out " _The last thing you never see"_ was written on it. As far as mottos for groups of elite snipers went, that _had_ to be pretty high up there in terms of how fantastic it sounded. Guess that proved the sharpshooting skills that she'd heard of, anyways. She finished examining it, moving it to a pocket before looking up to speak to the man... only to find him back in his previous position, as silent and solemn as a statue with a rifle.

. . .

Maya hated this town. Sure, sure, they'd probably raise their brows and laugh if she brought it up - she was a whole "walk the wastes" courier type, right? - but she could never tolerate these small towns for long. She came from a city, and she'd been promised the greatest city of all here... so, here she was. Moving from one wooden-house town to another. At least Goodsprings managed to gain _some_ points on her location rating scale, on lieu of the whole cheating death thing she'd gone through. Here, however? She was tempted to lead all of them in front of that purple dinosaur, and see just how fast Boone could fire. Novac had that unique feeling only present in hospitals and - she imagined - special forces barracks. Pure, unfiltered passive-aggressive elitism. The local insane man, of all people, had been the most helpful. Well, in a manner of speaking. All he'd really confirmed was that it _may have been_ _mole people who dug into the lobby_ and stole her, but that was better than the practiced bullshit the others had given her.

She opened the notes function within the Pip-Boy, adding another "x" next to the last name - Ada Straus - and considering just crashing for the - _wait_. Wait... wait. She'd gotten almost nothing out of anyone - except for the fact that almost everyone disliked Carla - but... she'd heard some fancy quote, sometime back. Probably one of the historians she'd known back in Cali, but... something about a glimmer of truth in the ramblings of an insane man, right? _Mole people who dug into the lobby... into the lobby_. The lobby. Maya spun around on one foot, racing towards the hotel, slowing down _just_ in time to see the old lady who owned it sitting on a bench outside, watching the sunset. She moved stealthily towards the door, pushing it open and thanking the fact that it didn't squeak.

She'd been in here before, of course, when she'd gotten a room to stay at, but it felt rather different, now. She felt like she didn't belong here, that someone was about to barge in and demand why she was in this very public location. No point concentrating on that now: she had to think. If they went into the lobby... that either meant they had some kind of exit here, or they were speaking to someone. Boone had mentioned no casualties, so that couldn't be it. The room was bland and open: there were no hiding places for some kind of passage, except... behind the desk. She couldn't check outside, now. It would take too much time, meaning she'd simply have to pray that Crawford was _very_ committed to her sunset watching. She crouched, moving behind the desk... before immediately sighing in frustration.

If it had been some kind of secret motion-triggered turret, she wouldn't have minded. Sure, she'd probably end up a corpse but she'd at least be a corpse in a _decent mood_. Instead... it was this bullshit. A _safe_. These were a pain to deal with, nearly always. Still, o point putting it off, now. Maya took out a bobby pin from a pocket, kneeling down over the safe. Placing the bobby pin inside, she began to turn ever-so-slightly to the right... and the safe door enthusiastically popped open, inviting her. _What the fuck?_ Just what kind of half-broken discount safe had this woman gone for? Her reward was inside, either way. A holo-tape. Quickly snatching it and closing the safe with her hands, she stood up, making her way over to a chair in the lobby. She'd just look like someone checking their Pip-Boy, hopefully.

A finger hovering over the "play" button, she ultimately decided against it. Still the chance of someone walking in. Instead, she opted for turning the knob a few times, opening the transcript screen, and began reading. Her expression was one of shock, slowly refining itself into rage. One phrase stood out in particular. A simple one, that stood out amongst the prices and contractual terms.

_Her unborn child._

A child. It wasn't just the wife, it was... the child in her. That's what they'd been buying for a fifty percent bonus. That was what Crawford had been _selling_. A woman and her child. Her hand instinctively went for the ten millimeter on her hip. _Blow out her fucking legs. Drag her to where Boone is waiting, and let him have the final shot. Would she beg? Realise what it was about? Would she have to play that tape to remind the bitch what she-_

"Oh, there you are, dear. Can I do something for you?"

Her hand snapped back from the gun, though it seemed that the old woman hadn't noticed. Standing in the doorway, she looked as innocent and calm as ever. Just a lovely old woman running a motel in a small town. Still, she could act along, too. Too many questions if she just acted here... and Boone had the rights to revenge of his choice. Instead, she gave her a forced smile, nodding.

"Miss Crawford! I'm sorry to bother you late, I was just actually hoping to run into you. It's nothing too big, but... could you come take a look at something? Just in front of the dinosaur. I'm not exactly too certain about structural stability, but this could..."

Maya trailed off as she walked out of the doorway. A good way to get people to follow you was to avoid ending the conversation. This way, she'd either be following her out of her own free will, or to tell her that she _wasn't_ going to be following her. All she had to do was stay in front of the old woman, which wasn't exactly hard. In fact, she arrived in front of the dinosaur before Crawford had even approached it. As the woman finally did, Maya smiled, pulling out the beret and carefully putting it on. There was a look of surprise from the old woman for but a moment, as she opened her mouth to speak. She never got the chance to close it.

Blood _splattered_ everywhere, staining the ground, a few drops landing on her clothing. The old woman's head had simply... exploded. The stump of a neck connected to a body that was growing cold, spurting blood, was all that remained of Jeannie May Crawford, slaver and motel owner. Carefully stepping away from the body, Maya tried to wipe the image of loose pieces of gore and bone from her mind, backing away and looking up at the sniper. He gave her something that could have passed for a reassuring nod, along with a brief gesture that involved tapping the top of his head. It took her a second, before she realised he was either showing off how lovely his headshot was, or asking for his beret back. Just in case, she obliged, taking it off and moving towards the entrance to the dinosaur.

She fought back a small smile. Maya wasn't happy about seeing the body, of course, but... there was a feeling of some primal satisfaction, at having found out the slaver. Gotten a man his chance at revenge, and made just that one _microscopic_ dent against the Legion. Anything to bring back the memory of the way that dog-hat-wearing fucker's expression changing from smug confidence to brief panic was well worth it. Plus, she had an ally who was capable enough at handling a rifle. Would he be willing to travel with her, perhaps? As far as Vegas, anyways. It'd stop the amount of times she was shot at, especially since ED-E still lay inside a hotel room, refusing to do anything but play his little jingle. Maybe... could she hold the beret hostage in return for him sticking with her? Pushing open the door to the dino, her smile grew a bit. It was the little things that counted.


End file.
